Untitled, For Now
by MGMK
Summary: This is a purely speculative, imaginative story of fiction, centering around the Glee kids and their college lives...P.S. I hate summaries.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: **Don't own. Just borrowing. Except of course the original characters, of which there will be a-plenty, I'm sure.

**Author's Note: **Hey guys. How are things? Hope everyone's okay. Two things: Yay, my beta's back and oh my God am I having some intense writer's block (and with _Fifty First Times_ of all stories. That's like…impossible). But I will – _I will_ – power through it I am sure. It'll just take a while. That being said, I have been tinkering with this story; untitled because I don't know what to call it – Glee: The College Years. That just sound whack and I'm not having that. It's one thing to be dorky, but to be _lame_. Nuh uh. Not gonna happen. So, you guys are welcome to title it. Oh, and this is just part one of the introduction chapter because this only covers like half of the Glee Club. We still have to see what the rest of the gang is up to. Thanks for reading and reviewing and remember, Glee comes back on September 20. Although, watching season three could mess up the continuity of this story. I mean, Sam's gone (according to canon) but he's still around in this. Whatever, this is AU country, anyway. Dueces.

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><p>"Oof," Santana grunts, swinging her carry-on bag over her shoulder.<p>

Brittany is standing next to her, still trying to get the handle on her rolling suitcase to let up.

She couldn't believe they'd actually done it; made it to New York.

It took a lot to get to this moment and now that she's here, nothing, _nothing_, can bring her down.

"Santana!"

Except that.

Santana flinches, grabbing Brittany's hand and pulling her through the airport terminal. "C'mon Britt-Britt."

Brittany looks over her shoulder as Santana moves them swiftly through the throngs of bodies. "But someone's calling you."

"Ignore it," Santana grunts, hiking the bag closer and trying not to slip on the shiny floor.

She should have worn sneakers.

"It sounds like-"

"Ladies," Rachel says, suddenly right in front of them.

Santana curses, rearing back and putting a hand to her chest as Brittany squeals excitedly, throwing her arms around the shorter girl. "Hi Rachel!"

"Hello Brittany," Rachel enthuses, hugging her back.

"You are a leprechaun," Santana grumbles, prying them apart. She's not used to Brittany hugging things, okay? "Where'd you come from? I thought we left you back there," she says, hooking a thumb behind her.

Rachel smiles, smoothing out her skirt. "I took some ventriloquism lessons over the summer. I've gotten really adept at throwing my voice."

"Can you catch it too?" Brittany asks.

Santana just groans, shuffling forward again; this time with Rachel in tow.

"It doesn't quite work like that, Brittany," Rachel tells her, moving along. "So, are you guys excited?"

"Super excited," the blonde says.

"I was doing fine until about a minute ago, Berry," Santana snips.

Rachel rolls her eyes. "Honestly, Santana. I say we just bury the hatchet right now. I mean, it's not like we're going to be able to avoid each other."

"But I can try my damnedest though," the Latina smirks.

"Well then, I guess you'll be seeing a lot less of Brittany."

Santana stops, an arm bar going out against Brittany's stomach and Rachel's chest. "Whatchu talkin' bout, Midget?"

"Didn't Brittany tell you? She and I are roommates," Rachel says, hooking an arm around Brittany's petite waist.

Santana's eye twitches.

Brittany claps her hands together excitedly. "It's gonna be so much fun."

**-GLEE-**

"Ah," Kurt breathes, slipping out of the taxi and twirling around on the street. "Just smell that fabulous city air."

Finn inhales deep and then promptly starts hacking up a lung. "Smells…like…diesel fuel," he gasps out, hunched over.

"You'll get used to it."

"Uh...are you gonna help me with this or...?" Finn asks, holding up a chandeliered table lamp and shaking it gently.

"Be careful with that," Kurt hisses, snatching the item away. "It's a Lilic."

"But isn't that a flower?"

"Not a lilac, Finn. It's a Christopher Lilic. In other words, it's more expensive than your entire wardrobe."

Finn shrugs it off, grabbing more of Kurt's stuff as quickly as possible and Kurt – after all this time – has gotten to know his stepbrother a little bit. Finn's shoulders are drawn tight and he's focusing as much attention as he can on mechanically unloading the taxi's cab and trunk.

"I doubt she's even here yet, Finn. And no one knows you're here anyway."

Finn sighs heavily, placing a few suitcases at curbside. "What are you talking about, Bro?"

Kurt raises an unimpressed brow. "Rachel. Rachel Berry," he deadpans. "The girl who promptly dumped you at graduation and sent you into a massive spiral of self-deprecation and doughnuts."

"Psh," Finn dismisses with a wave of his hand. "Best thing that ever happened to me."

Kurt can't really argue there. After a month straight of moping, Puck and Sam hauled Finn's Michelin man-like body to the gym and exorcised (and exercised) his demons. The end result was a slamming physique and an athletic scholarship to New York University...or Ohio State.

So, maybe Finn's not _quite_ over Rachel.

"Uh huh. Sure," Kurt concedes with much sarcasm. "Come on," he says, paying off the driver. "I'm sure Dad and Carol are wondering what's taking us so long."

**-GLEE-**

"I expect a phone call every day, young lady," Brittany's mom says, still holding on to the girl fiercely.

Santana feels a little awkward, watching the exchange. Her own send off took place back in Lima, with her parents more than happy to ship their lesbian daughter across the continent and her little brother more than bored.

When she finally came out publically, (senior year, en route to first period with "Wheels" trying to chat-up Brittany – a very tanned and beautifully made-up Brittany – she'd decided once and for all to give up the ghost and just get her girl by reacquainting her tongue with Brit's tonsils), her parents had reacted a little less like civilized, Country Club type people and a little more like antiquated Bible-thumpers and kicked her out on her perfectly toned ass.

That wasn't a good day.

Still, they'd come around, sort of; at least she didn't have to live with Coach anymore – those 3AM wake-up sirens were a _bitch_. But they were still strange around her and stranger still around Brittany. Ergo, when the time came for her to step out on her own, they seemed more than willing to part ways, casually hugging her and telling her the movers would be there with her things on move-in day.

Therefore, watching this drawn out emotional goodbye tugs on her heartstrings in ways she can't begin to explain, and her smile is watery, even as Brittany rolls – well blinks oddly; she never _quite_ perfected the eye roll – her eyes in mock annoyance.

"I promise, Mom," the girl says, almost haughtily but her voice wavers just a tad in the end.

Before Santana knows what's happening there are arms around her as well, squeezing the very breath out of her lungs. "That goes for you too, Miss Lopez," Mrs. Pierce murmurs, her cheek warm against Santana's.

She can feel the tears she'd planned on holding back prickling against her eyelids as Brittany's mom holds her just a little bit tighter. The pale blue eyes staring at her lovingly from across the room just top it all off though and her shoulders bounce as she finally sobs unabashedly.

"Shh," the older woman soothes, almost rocking her. "No need to cry. If you need anything, _anything_, just give me call, okay? And I mean it, Santana."

Santana nods as the woman finally pulls away, her fingernail catching a tear that's perched on her eyelid.

"Be good girls," Mrs. Pierce says once more, looking back and forth between them.

"Mom!" Brianna, Brittany's sister, calls from the doorway. She's on the verge of teenage-hood and without a cell phone signal…so…pissed. "Can we _please_ go now?"

"Okay," the woman sighs, dusting a kiss to Brittany's cheek and wiping the lipstick she leaves away with her thumb. She turns toward the dorm room door and steps out, calling out a final goodbye over her shoulder. "Look out for one another, girls."

Brittany closes the door behind her and lets out a shaky sigh when it rattles shut, sniffling slightly.

Santana's question dies on her lips though because Brittany's mouth finds hers in the next instant, insistent and needy and overwhelmingly eager as they trip over to Brittany's bed.

"I thought she'd never leave," Brittany whispers against her lips, fingers threading into Santana's hair as her left hand traces a strong jaw line.

"I…god…Britt," Santana breathes, her thoughts jumbled as Brittany's knee creates an unbelievable friction at the apex of her thighs.

"Oh my-"

Santana shoots up in bed, her eyes wide as they dart toward the doorway where Rachel's standing, looking like Bambi.

She shakes it off quickly though, crossing the room in quick strides. "I think it will be necessary to establish a few 'house rules'."

"This sucks already," Santana murmurs, straightening up her top and fighting off a blush.

"Is this considered a house?" Brittany asks, cocking her head to the side. "I always thought it was more of an apartment complex."

"Rule #1: No Sapphic rendezvous with Rachel in the room."

Brittany's shoulder brushes Santana's. "Why does Rachel use so many big words?"

"Because she has a big mouth," Santana smirks in answer and the smaller girl just rolls her eyes in response.

"What I mean to say is: please don't have sex while I'm in the room, Brittany."

Brittany thinks about this. "What if…it's really late and Santana's staying over and you're asleep and we're really quiet?"

"I don't think so, Brittany," Rachel stands firm. "I'm very open-minded but I don't think even I could handle seeing all of…well, that," she gestures vaguely.

"Quinn never minded," Brittany mutters under her breath.

"Save your breath, Hobbit," Santana barks, sifting her fingers through her hair. "I won'ts be able to get my mack on with you in the room anyway. It's like trying to ignore Blaine's tri-brows."

"Speaking of Blaine," Rachel gushes, snapping up her cell phone and tapping out a quick message. "He and Kurt are supposed to be arriving today as well. We're going out for lattes because that's what New Yorkers do. You two should join. It'll be like a mini-New Directions reunion."

"Wait, Klaine Warmel is here, too," Santana practically screeches. "How did I not know this? And more importantly, how is it that I managed to choose the one college you fools all decided to migrate to?"

"First of all," Rachel explains. "I think neither Blaine nor Kurt would appreciate that mash-up of their names. Second of all, you'd be well-aware of everyone's post-graduation plans if you'd actually kept in touch like we all did instead of ignoring or deleting every one of us off of your Facebook page. And third, we were in show-choir. You're a lesbian. It's only natural we'd find ourselves in the gayest city on this side of the country."

Brittany turns to look at Santana. "I actually followed that."

"Well, anyway, we'll be at the Quad Café if you want to join," Rachel breezes, tugging on – what else? – a sweater and literally bouncing out of the door.

Santana turns toward Brittany, her eyes sparking dangerously and her lips curved in a mischievous grin. "Where were we?"

She drops her mouth down to Brittany's but the other girl just pouts, non-receptive.

"Aw man," Santana groans, dropping her forehead against Brittany's with a sigh. "Don't tell me you actually want to go."

Brittany nods but says. "Okay. I won't tell you."

Santana sighs again, pushing herself away from Brittany and off the bed, reaching down to help her girlfriend up as well. "Well, c'mon then."

"I love you," Brittany grins, leaning over and pecking Santana on the cheek as she weaves their fingers together.

So, college doesn't suck.

**-GLEE-**

Except, well, it does.

Being that he is here on athletic scholarship, Finn had to be on campus a full four weeks before the rest of the incoming undergraduates so he knew his way around the place…sort of.

So, yeah, maybe he still got his directions mixed up and ends up in Washington Square instead of the gym which pisses his new coach off something extraordinary.

He's just 'getting his legs underneath him' like Burt likes to say.

And if that means running a few extra laps before and after practice, then, so what.

But…

College is a bit of a culture shock in that nobody at all gives a crap about him.

Back in Lima he was the cream of the crop, the top of the heap, the guy who had everything.

Here, he had the privilege of dry-cleaning jock straps…that didn't belong to him.

"Hudson!"

"Yes, Sir. I mean, Ma'am. I mean, Coach. Yes, Coach," he stutters out, teetering precariously on one leg.

"Is that how they walance in O-why-o?"

_What?_

"Um…yes?"

Coach Davinder Malik was the embodiment of everything Coach Sylvester ever aimed to be, only, she won a whole lot less so she was more bitter than you could ever imagine. She looked like Coach Beiste, had a withering Sue-like personality, and sounded like Principal Figgins, which meant that Finn never _ever _knew what the woman was saying but he knew that she was _ticked_…often.

"Vell, it ees pathetic," Coach spits out, sneering at him. "Duncan!"

"Yes, Coach," a boy down the line jumps to attention.

"Show Hudson how it's done."

"Sure thing, Coach," the boy says, running over to stand directly in front of Finn, balancing on one leg with the grace of a dancer and smirking.

Finn narrows his eyes, his face turning red.

_Duncan._

If there was one thing he hated most about college so far it was this tow-headed fool standing right in front of him.

It started his first day here, when he was all fresh-faced and ready for anything, and naïve enough to believe that when someone tells you it's the guys' locker room it actually is.

The women's volleyball team certainly didn't agree with him.

And as his towel clad-form was being dragged away by campus security, Duncan and his friends stood idly by laughing their butts off.

Duncan – 1.

Finn – 0.

Finn'd find a way to even the score, eventually, but first he had to get this standing on one leg thing down.

Maybe he'd ask Brittany for a few lessons.

**-GLEE-**

"You have got to be kidding me."

Quinn whips around, her eyebrows rising once she sees who it is. "What are you doing here?"

"Quinn," Brittany says elatedly, clapping her hands excitedly. "This is so awesome!"

"This is my room," Santana states, crossing her arms defensively as Brittany gives Quinn and hug. "What are you doing here?"

"This can't be your room because it's mine and I'm supposed to be rooming with," Quinn pauses, shuffling her check-in papers, "Jasmine Fellows. You must've gotten it wrong."

Santana pulls her own paperwork from her back pocket. "Brittany Hall; Room 729."

"This cannot be possible," Quinn mutters, flipping her hair back out of her eyes.

"I think it's great," Brittany beams, clasping the blonde's hand. "We can all hang out and it'll be like high school all over again."

Santana actually whimpers a little at that, rubbing her temple absently and a presence – neither welcome nor unwelcome – makes itself known. "So, I'm guessing you guys have figured it out already, huh?"

A petite dark-haired girl smiles at them sheepishly from the open doorway. "I meant to get here sooner but I got held up a few doors down. I'm Jennifer," she grins holding out a hand that Santana just stares at. "R.A."

"I'm Brittany," Brittany says, pumping the girl's hand when it swings in her direction. "B.P, I guess. And that's Santana, S.L. And Quinn, Q.F."

"Um…okay," Jennifer laughs pleasantly, though not mockingly. "So, in case you haven't figured it out, we had to do some last minute juggling with the room assignments. Some girl's got super-sensitive skin and like can't be roomed with Hindus or something and it threw off our whole arrangement. But, we figured we couldn't go wrong with pairing you two since you come from the same high school."

Santana openly glares at Quinn. "Any chance we could maybe switch rooms, still? I'm allergic to people whose names start with 'Q' and end in 'uinn'."

"You're so hilarious, Santana," Quinn deadpans, throwing her hands up in the air. "A regular Wanda Sykes. Wait, didn't her show get _canceled_?"

"See," Jennifer says, smiling tightly. "Peachy keen. Happy rooming."

Brittany sighs when Jennifer closes the door behind her. "Why are you guys pretending to hate each other? We ended good, remember? Quinn's one of the reasons we chose NYU, San."

"Britt," Santana chastises quietly, ignoring Quinn's smug look. "Fine, whatever. I guess we're cool?"

Quinn nods shortly, her smile turning just a tad more genuine. "We're cool."

"Good," Santana says, grabbing the hoodie she'd trudged back to her dorm room to retrieve in the first place with one hand and Quinn's wrist with the other. "You're coming with, then. I need a buffer for that Midget's prattle and Britts can't do it alone."

**-GLEE-**

Dave jumps when his phone snaps shut.

"Can you quit texting your boyfriend already? Jeez."

Immediately he's on red alert and ready to pound his fist into a face. "What'd you say?"

"Whoa," Noah shrinks back, holding his hands up. "Chill man. I thought you were texting your boy Azimio. Can't you take a joke?"

"Oh," Dave says, laughing breathlessly. "A joke."

"Yeah, you know," Puck says, "Like ha ha."

"Yeah. I know. Sorry, Bro. I've just been a little…tense these last few days."

"I hear ya'," Puck says, stretching out his quads while eyeing a few ladies that strut across the field. "These practices are nothing like high school. Good thing I'm a stud, huh?" he laughs, slapping Dave's shoulder pads and taking off in a sprint across the field.

"Puckerman!" Coach Martin yells through the bullhorn, which, yeah, not necessary but, whatever.

"Shalom!" Puck answers back, still tearing through the mid-field.

Puck couldn't have pictured it any better. He may not have gotten out of Ohio but this sure as hell wasn't half-stepping. He is a freshman at the Ohio State University; home of the Buckeyes – his teams. His only goal is to impress, get a starting spot on the team and then get in on all of the action off the field because damn, the chicks at this school…

BAM!

Puck is sure he just got leveled by a freight train because the unstoppable force just hit the immovable object and stopped…HARD.

"Argggh," he hears a familiar voice growl, the weight of someone on top of him just registering. "This is my field Pokemon."

"Lauren?" he wheezes out, feeling his lungs burn to take in air. "You're cramping my style."

"Well then don't try to show off on my watch."

"Nice hit, Zizes!" Coach calls out.

"Thanks Coach," Lauren beams, pushing herself up but not before knocking Noah's head into the dirt one more time. "That was for breaking up with me."

"But," Puck says, sitting up with a start and staring after her accusingly. "You broke up with me."

"Then that was for letting me."

**-GLEE-**

"Hi, girls!"

Brittany holds Santana's hand just a little tighter when she feels the girl starting to bolt away as Kurt approaches them, vibrating with enthusiasm.

"Oh dear Lord, what Elton John enthusiast exploded all over you?" Santana murmurs, taking in Kurt's… appearance, shall we say.

His ensemble screams notice me and it's trendy enough to not be gaudy, but you'd also mistake him for a street cone if he stood still enough.

"And hello to you, Santana. It's nice to see lesbianism hasn't dampened your wit," Kurt murmurs, pulling Brittany into a hug.

"Nope," Santana snipes smugly. "Still as sharp as a tack, Hummel, and don't you forget it."

"Sweetie," Blaine says, nudging Kurt with his elbow. "What's the matter with Rachel?"

Kurt gives the girl a glancing once-over. "I've told you time and time again, Blaine, Rachel doesn't understand the atrocity otherwise known as polyester. It's best to let sleeping dogs lie."

"No," Blaine says, smiling at Kurt's…kurt-ness. "I'm not talking about that. I mean, she's quiet."

Santana grins. "Oh, you finally broke her Kurt. Bless you and your Habitual jeans."

"Actually," Quinn says, pointing beyond Blaine's shoulder. "I think it might have something to do with that."

Finn ducks down a little when he sees all of them turn his direction, but it's too late, Kurt's already hurrying over, hands all fluttery and exuberant like dainty little bluebirds.

"Come, come, come," Kurt grins, tugging him along. "Sit and talk."

"Kurt," Blaine starts, looking back and forth between the used-to-be couple. "Maybe we should give them a minute alone?"

Kurt nods, following Quinn, Blaine and Brittany to an empty booth seat.

Santana just stands there.

"Santana?" Quinn questions pointedly.

"What?" the girl shrugs, smirking at the awkward duo. "I want to hear this."

"C'mon, San," Brittany grins, shaking her head as she clasps Santana's hand.

Rachel watches the group move away before turning back to look up at Finn. "Hi," she says, offering a crooked smile.

"Hi," Finn returns, a small smile of his own stretched across his face. "You cut your hair," he says, hands tucked into his pockets.

"Just a little," Rachel says, shrugging slightly. "I only asked for them to lop off a few inches but the lady went overboard I fear."

"No," Finn cuts in. "It looks good."

"Thanks," Rachel smiles, genuinely this time, taking a deep breath before broaching the subject they're tirelessly avoiding. "Look, about what happened after graduation-"

"Let's not…okay?" Finn interrupts, smiling for her benefit. "What happened, happened. And it's in the past. Let's leave it there."

If Rachel looks put off, she doesn't show it as she grins and nods, murmuring an "okay." She motions back to the group, "Did you want to…"

"Uh, you know, I'm uh, here with the guys on the team. You know, male bonding and stuff."

"Right," Rachel says, huffing a laugh. "Right. So, of course, you'll be going back to them."

"Right," Finn repeats, dumbly. "So, I guess I'll see you around?"

"Sure," Rachel says, nodding once. "Of course."

"Okay," Finn breathes, not knowing how to wrap up this conversation. "Bye Rachel," he opts for, turning and jetting away before she can say anything.

"Bye…Finn," she manages, looking after him rather forlornly.

Santana lets out a low whistle. "_Maaaaan_, is he mad at you or what?"

Rachel ignores her, opting to wordlessly slide into the booth. "Are we ready to order yet?"

Brittany frowns, slapping the laminated paper down on the table suddenly, causing five sets of familiar eyes to look at her. "Menus are more confusing than recipes."


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer:**Don't own. Just borrowing.

**Author****'****s****Note:** Hello everyone. I hope everyone who celebrates it had a nice holiday. I'm…waiting for Tuesday. That seems to be my perpetual memo to everyone these days. Thanks for the kind words regarding everything I've posted. I think I replied to all the reviews I've gotten of late. Thanks again for reading and everything. And thanks especially to my beta for looking these things over for me. Oh, and guys, check out the little angsty ficlet at the end. Thanks again. Also, reading this over it becomes painfully obvious who my favorite characters are and that's sad. I know the story jumps all over the place but that's primarily because this basically serves as a continued introduction chapter to let you guys "touch base" with the rest of the former Glee club members. From here on out each susbsequent chapter will focus on either the kids in NY or the kids elsewhere to cut down on the 'all over the place-ness', okay?

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><p>"Hi Brittany."<p>

The blonde girl stops in her tracks, blinking unhurriedly. "Who said that?"

"Britt. It's me. Artie."

Brittany looks around her dorm room and she doesn't see a wheelchair anywhere so it can't be Artie and Santana doesn't like it when she talks to strangers.

Still...

"Artie, where are you?" she asks, scrambling to look under her bed, "Are you hiding?"

Artie pushes up his glasses, chuckling lightly. "You crack me up sometimes, Britt. Did you know that? I'm over here, on the computer."

Brittany's head pops up and sure enough, Artie's smiling at her from the desktop monitor.

"Wow," she breathes, crawling over on her knees, "I always knew you were super-smart Artie, but, I didn't know you knew magic too."

Artie frowns. "It's just a webcam, Brittany. You know, Skype?"

"_Oh_," Brittany nods, even though she doesn't have a clue what he's talking about. She'll just ask Santana about it later. "So, what's up?"

"Nothing much," Artie says smoothly, pushing up his glasses, "Mike just left for class and I was gonna chat with Rachel really quick 'cause she PM'd me. How are things going with you?"

"Great. I like it here a whole lot. Even though I've only been here two days now. Santana likes it here, too. Even though she won't really admit it," Brittany says brightly, grinning wryly into the camera realizing her slight overstep.

Artie's still a little touchy about _that_ aspect of their friendship.

"That's good. Everything's good here, too. Tina's roommate is really cool. She's into art design and stuff, but, also, really good with computers. So, we kinda clicked talking about that."

Brittany's smile is immediate. "Artie's got a crush," she sing-songs and then laughs when the boy on the other end chuckles nervously.

"It's not…no, okay?" Artie says, trying to will his skin back to its normal color, "I don't. I just find her interesting. That's all."

"Uh huh," Brittany nods, her eyes and tone still teasing, "Whatever you say Artie."

"Even if I did like her – which I don't," he hurries to amend, cutting off more teasing from Brittany, "It wouldn't matter because why would she be interested in a geek who's stuck in a wheelchair?"

"I was interested," Brittany says innocently, shrugging a little.

Artie softens a little.

"But, you're different, Britt…" he says, shifting uncomfortably, "You don't see me like the rest of the world does. To you I'm just Artie, the guy who was in Glee club with you –"

"The best chair dancer in the world," Brittany cuts in, grinning widely.

Artie snorts.

"Yeah, I am that," he says, his tone just a tad bit withering. "See? You get me, Britt. But, I don't think it's gonna be as easy for other girls."

"Maybe you have to make them see," Brittany suggests, tilting her head. "Ask her out and show her all the awesome you can be on four wheels."

"You think that'll work?"

"Silly," Brittany smiles, "I know it will."

**-GLEE-**

"Mercedes Jones?"

"Present," the girl says, settling further into her seat at the front of the class.

So here she is, in college.

And completely and utterly alone.

Not that Mercedes Jones minds because Mercedes Jones is a diva, a star whose light shone too bright for a Podunk town like Lima, Ohio.

But, she would like to at least have one friend here with her.

Sighing, Mercedes pulls out her iPhone, unlocking the screen and trying not to get too weepy at the image of all of them together, smiling and laughing madly just after the announcement of their 2nd place finish at nationals. It sucks something fierce that there are literally miles and miles between her and her closest friends but, sacrifices have to be made in order to follow one's dream.

And while Kurt and Rachel's dreams were in the city that never sleeps, the city of broad shoulders was calling out to Mercedes.

That's right.

She is in Chicago, Illinois – silent 's', don't pronounce it. It annoys the hell out of the city folk; she found that out on her first day here – in the school of performing arts, and a walk-on headliner of the school's a capella group, The Downtown Voices. Though the group definitely needed a better name – because, really? _Really?_ – she couldn't deny they were talented and more importantly, they wanted her.

"Who's that?"

Mercedes startles at the finger suddenly pointing at her phone and she looks over to its origin and takes note of a smiling girl. She's small, is the first thing Mercedes notices, like tinier than Rachel small, and she's almost as cheerful, which at first frightens her, but, she dresses like eighty times better so she'll cut her a little slack.

"My friends from back home," Mercedes says, scrolling her thumb across the screen and enlarging the picture.

"Cool," the girl nods, leaning closer to look. "Who's the guy with the mohawk?"

Mercedes grins and then rolls her eyes. "That's Puck, er…Noah. He's an idiot."

"Kinda hot, though," the girl murmurs out, still peering over the faces. "How about the blonde hottie with the lips?"

For a minute Mercedes thinks she's talking about Quinn, and, _seriously_ after Kurt and Santana both came out to her first she's starting to think that maybe she has a sign that says "Gay Sanctuary" over her head. But, then she realizes this girl is looking at _her_ blonde hottie.

"Uh uh, no Girl. That's _my _man," Mercedes says with a coy grin. And it's true. She and Sam decided they were going to try to give this long-distance thing a go.

Although, is he technically a boy because he's still in high school?

"Nice," the girl nods, tossing Mercedes a grin. "He's got the goods, girl."

"I know this," Mercedes tosses back, flicking her hair. "And he knows he's got the goods right here, too," she says, gesturing to herself.

The girl laughs quietly, rapping her knuckles on her desk. "I like you…Mercedes, right?"

Mercedes nods, intent on asking the girl her name but the professor taking roll call beats her to it.

"Brooke Washington?" he drones.

"That's me," the girl says, raising a hand in the air.

"But my friends call me Brooklyn," she adds as an aside to Mercedes, "That's where I'm from."

**-GLEE-**

The annoying thing about coming out of the closet is having to do it again and again and again and again…

"Ugh," Santana groans, throwing her books down on Rachel's bed. Brittany looks up from her desk. "I should just wear a sign around my neck that says, 'Don't ask. I like the 'vag'."

Rachel frowns, rubbing the now red spot on her arm where Santana's biology book landed. "I think they'd kick you out of school for that."

"_Please_," Santana dismisses easily, flopping onto Brittany's lap, "If that pervert with the green hair can wear a shirt that says 'I want you to touch my lucky charm' then I can totally advertise my love for the ladies."

Brittany pouts momentarily, "Ladies?"

"Lady," Santana corrects, rubbing her hands along smooth thighs. "One lady, Britt. You," she says, leaning back to drop a chaste kiss onto her girlfriend's lips.

"So, I am to take it that you've been receiving unwanted sexual advances?" Rachel asks, sitting up properly in her bed.

"Unwanted and unwarranted," Santana states, laying her head back against Brittany's shoulder, "I mean, unless my perpetual scowl translates to 'come hither' in stupid speak."

"Well, you could always send a few of them my way," Rachel suggests, rather casually.

Both Brittany and Santana stop moving. "What?" Santana nearly scoffs.

Rachel shrugs, uncharacteristically avoiding their gazes. "I'm merely suggesting that you provide your gentlemen suitors a more willing participant."

Santana raises an eyebrow, "Since when are you more willing?"

"This is college, Santana. We're young adults and…and I'm single," the brunette says, trying to retain an air of Rachel even though this is decidedly a very un-Rachel conversation, "And, quite frankly, I don't think it's acceptable that the only person I've been with…that way is Finn."

Santana winces and Brittany nods sympathetically, "That's awful."

"So, you see my point, then."

"If your point is that you want to start dating again, then by all means, start dating again," Santana says, her voice taking on a serious quality. "But, I'm not gonna whore you out Rachel. Even though you eternally make me want to light myself on fire, that seems…wrong for some reason."

"It _is_ wrong," Brittany speaks up, peering at Rachel from around Santana. "If this is about Finn-"

"Who said anything about Finn?" Rachel asks in a clipped voice.

Bingo.

"Look, Midget, I'm going to tell you this because I'm feeling extra cozy and in love right now, and you really need to hear it. Get over The Finnkenstein. That ship has sailed, sailed back, boarded up, and sailed again. It's time to let it go. He already has," Santana tells her, shrugging rather indifferently.

Rachel turns silently back to her school work.

**-GLEE-**

"It's nice of you to finally join us Mr. DiMarco."

Quinn looks up from her notes like everybody else and tilts an eyebrow at the questionable figure standing at the front of the classroom.

"No problem, Professor C. Got hung up in traffic," the boy coolly says, his New York accent making his 'n's carry on for minutes. "You know how it is."

"Your ability to lie without remorse both frightens and alarms me, Mr. DiMarco," Professor Chisholm says, pointing to an empty desk and the young man carries out his tacit request.

"Cool," the boy says, sliding in to the seat next to Quinn. "Do I get extra credit?"

The class laughs and the boy just smirks, his eyes hidden behind RayBan sunglasses.

Professor Chisholm is not amused. "It seems there's not enough extra credit in the world for you to pass this class, Julian. But, you know what they say, third time's a charm."

The class 'oohs' silently as the Professor turns his attention back to the lesson, chalk scribbling away on a pristine chalkboard.

"Whatever," Julian murmurs, leaning all the way back in his chair to put his feet up on his desk, stretching exaggeratedly before slumping down in his seat.

Quinn gets back to her notes, trying to pay attention but ever so often her eyes stray across the small gap between her desk and the one next to her.

She really _does_ have a thing for bad boys.

Julian stretches again suddenly, rolling his head around and Quinn can feel his eyes settle on her, even though they're still hidden behind expensive plastic.

Ignoring him is not an option at this point so she turns slightly and catches him staring, a small inscrutable smile on his face.

She flushes instantly. "Wh-what?" she stammers out, eyes darting between the blackboard and the boy sitting next to her.

"'Sup?" is all Julian says, smiling dorkily.

And just like that, Quinn's a goner.

**-GLEE-**

Mike and Tina….do…stuff.

**-GLEE-**

"Want me to carry your bag?"

Brittany smiles cutely at Santana, clutching her duffel bag in one hand, "I'm fine, Santana."

The girl blushes, scuffing a toe along the carpet, "Okay, good."

"This is so bizarre," Quinn comments, watching the scene play out in front of her with an indescribable smile on her face.

"What is?" Brittany asks, stepping out of the dorm room, stepping aside to let Quinn and Santana follow.

"You," Quinn says, then nods to Santana, "Her. She's all…normal and stuff. And she smiles a lot more, too. She's like…nice."

Santana rolls her eyes. "That's what being true to yourself does for you, but if you'd like I could be a bitch to you. Put your world back on track."

Quinn nods. "I think I might like that."

"Good."

"Great."

Brittany frowns. "San, don't be mean to Quinn. I like it when you're nice to people."

Santana grins and takes her girlfriend's hand, squeezing gently. "I'm just kidding, Britt. Quinn's on my friends' list these days."

"What are you doing?"

Brittany looks up ahead of them where Santana and Quinn's R.A., Jennifer, is standing with her hand on her hip. She's flanked on either side by two similarly displeased-looking girls, and all of their attention seems to be focused on where Santana's gripping fiercely onto her hand.

In the past, Santana would immediately let go of Brittany, spluttering out some nonsensical explanation like Brittany needed constant supervision or something of that sort, and while that was generally true – she does have the tendency to wander off from time to time – it usually didn't make Brittany feel good when she said that.

Now though, Santana just grips her hand tighter.

"What?" the Latina snaps, staring at the girls pointedly.

Quinn keeps her distance for now.

"Aren't you two a little too old to be holding hands?" the girl to the left of Jennifer asks, smacking annoyingly loud on some gum.

Brittany frowns.

If she's gonna make it _that_ obvious she could at least _share._

"For your information," Santana says, moving forward slightly, "I'm holding her hand because she's my girlfriend."

Brittany's stomach flips over again – still having not gotten used to Santana just calling her that, especially in front of people – but Santana's not backing down.

Not letting her go.

She almost wants to cry.

"I see," Jennifer says, narrowing her eyes.

Brittany can almost feel Santana's anxiety coming off of her in waves and she knows that her girlfriend is about two seconds away from smacking the sneer off of all three of the girls' faces, but before she blows her gasket, Quinn steps forward, stepping around her to stand in front of the both of them.

"Do we have a problem, ladies?" she asks, crossing her arms.

"Not with you, Quinn. Don't blow up," the girl to the right of Jennifer says.

"If you have a problem with my friends," Quinn says, emphasizing the word friends, "Then you also have a problem with me, understand?"

There's a bit of a stare-down between Jennifer and Quinn, and it isn't until then that Quinn takes notice of the pin adorning the other girl's shirt; the light blue lettering over a navy blue background. In fact, all three of the girls are wearing them.

They're Kappas.

Quinn's screwed.

"Have it your way, Fabray," Jennifer sniffs, flipping her hair and walking past the three of them, her lackeys in tow.

**-GLEE-**

"I'm so excited. I can't wait to get started."

They're – her, Kurt, Blaine, and Brittany – sitting in the auditorium, awaiting the arrival of their new show choir director and, in Rachel's case, about ready to leap out of their skin. There are about thirty or more other students waiting as well – quite the step-up from a ragtag group of twelve.

And the auditorium could quite possibly double as an amphitheatre.

Blaine lets out a low whistle. "Would you look at this place? It's amazing."

"How do you think he's going to have us audition?" Kurt asks, worriedly wringing his hands together, "As a group, in groups, or individually?"

"I'm pretty sure we'll have to go individually, Kurt. That's how I would do it if I were director," Rachel answers, eyes darting back and forth from the stage to the door.

"There he is," a girl sitting in front of them shouts and they all crane their necks to see.

The crowd buzzes as a lone figure emerges: the director, Mr. Randall Cunningham.

Mr. Cunningham is a celebrated figure in the show choir world. A byproduct of Vocal Adrenaline and the world-renowned college show choir _Noted_, Randall Cunningham pursued a career in Broadway but after a successful stint as the Tin Man in Quentin Tarantino's Wizard of Oz interpretation entitled _Cap__Dat__Witch_, Randall instead pursued a career in consultation, intent in turning out a crop of successful protégés that would take the entertainment industry by storm.

Needless to say, it's not exactly going according to plan.

New York University's show choir program is hanging on by a thread – the old reason they have half of their resources is because of the school's other successful performing arts program – but unless they can pull off a miracle this year, the Treble Makers are dunzo.

The crowd's murmurs die down into a hush as Mr. Cunningham ascends the steps of the stage. He's wearing all black, and the black-framed, square-shaped glasses on his face suit him rather handsomely. Slowly he walks, until he's standing in the center of the stage, a lone microphone already placed in front of him.

"Good afternoon, ladies, gentlemen," he starts, pausing dramatically, "And welcome to the single-most important day in your young lives."

**-GLEE-**

Santana yawns loudly, propping her feet up on the arms of the chair in front of her. "Wake me up when it's Britt's turn, yeah?" she asks Quinn, already fluttering her eyes closed.

"Who does this guy think he is?" Quinn whispers, gaping at the wiry man standing onstage. "He's like Jesse St. James, that Dakota guy, and…and…"

"Rachel?" Santana supplies with a snicker, full-on laughing when Quinn nods.

"He is pretty scary," she admits, her eyes popping open to see out Brittany. The plan to wait outside completely backfired when she realized she couldn't actually _see_ Brittany through brick walls so she and Quinn snuck in and crawled to the highest seats they could sit in and still actually see the stage.

But she's not like whipped or anything.

**-GLEE-**

"Hey, Sam," Mr. Schuester says, catching the boy as he's flying past his classroom.

Sam stops, cursing under his breath before turning around to face his former Spanish teacher. "Hey, Mr. Schue."

"Glee tryouts are today," Will tells him, moving closer. "But, between you and me, your audition's just a formality."

Sam smiles awkwardly when Mr. Schuester claps him on the back with a laugh.

"Yeah," he drawls out, clutching the straps on his book bag. "About that Mr. Schue…I wasn't planning on auditioning for Glee club today."

"Oh," Will says looking bereft momentarily before throwing his hand. "Oh, well, you know whenever you've got the time."

"I…I won't have the time, Mr. Schue. Look, Glee club was fun when everyone was here but…now that everyone's gone…"

Sam trails off, looking uncomfortable.

Mr. Schuester looks like someone's killed his puppy.

"It'll just feel wrong to be in that choir room, you know?" Sam tried to explain, genuinely looking conflicted.

Will manages a smile, even though it's wan at best. He wallows, nodding succinctly. "I…understand, Sam."

"Thanks Mr. Schue," Sam says, eyes apologetic. "And good luck, with everything."

**-GLEE-**

"I've totally got this," Rachel says.

After a rather lengthy introduction, even by Rachel's standards, Mr. Cunningham had split the auditioning persons up into groups. Apparently, his returning members need not audition which left ten prospectives and eight slots.

Given that two of the auditionees are talking about performing Drake's latest smash – _seriously?_ – Rachel's pretty sure they've got this is the proverbial bag.

"What are you going to perform?" Blaine asks, curious.

"My go to. Barbara," Rachel informs him, in between her breathing exercises.

Blaine nods, turning to Kurt, "And you?"

"Rose's Turn," he replies from around a mouthful of lemon, "I can't miss with that."

"Those are classic pieces you guys," Blaine says, eyes looking between them, "But aren't those a little overdone? I just don't know if I'd go with those songs."

Kurt spits out his lemon. "They're classics, Blaine. Surely a man of Mr. Cunningham's ilk can appreciate the timelessness that is Streisand and Minelli."

"I'm sure he can," Blaine agrees, "But those are typical. Especially for show choir. You guys should do something unexpected."

"Well, you guys totally should make up your minds because I don't want to get out there and sing the wrong words again," Brittany informs them, eyes focused on the Tetris game going on her phone.

They all – Blaine, Kurt, and Rachel – share a look before Rachel speaks up. "Um, Brittany, sweetie, we're not singing together."

Brittany's eyes widen. "We're not?"

"No," Kurt tells her gently, "These are solo auditions."

"But I thought show choirs sung in groups?"

"They do," Blaine says, nodding, "But we have to audition individually."

"That's stupid," Brittany says, "If we're going to sing as a group we should audition as group. That's like splitting peanut butter and jelly up into two different jars."

Kurt doesn't touch that one. "So, what are you going to sing?"

"I don't know," Brittany shrugs, looking worried, "I've never had to audition solo before. Actually, unless I sang lead most times in Glee club I just mouthed most of the words because usually when I sing and chew gum I almost die. Oh, and then there was that one time it got in Mercedes' hair but I cut it out before she noticed."

"I'm sure you'll do fine, Brittany," Rachel tries to assuage her fear even though she's fairly certain Brittany doesn't stand a chance in hell of getting in.

"Screw it," Blaine mutters suddenly, "I'll sing with you Britt. As long as I sing a verse and you sing a verse, they should count as solos."

"Yeah," Kurt says, hooking an arm through Rachel's. "And Rachel and I should sing together, too. That way you guys won't be alone in the duet division."

The curtain flutters as a mousy-looking girl with a clipboard pokes her head behind it. "Rachel Berry?" she inquires.

"That's us," Rachel breathes, accepting the good-luck hugs from Blaine and Brittany, "Off to face the music."

**-GLEE-**

"How did he take it?" Mercedes asks him, dropping off her purse just inside the dorm room doors.

"_He __looked __crushed __Cedes_." Sam's sigh comes across the line. "_You __think __I __should __join?_"

"Only if you really want to be there, Sammy. I think it'd be an insult to Mr. Schue for you to join if you're not one-hundred percent committed," she tells him, plopping down onto her bed and kicking off her shoes.

"_Yeah,_" he says, voice sounding just a tad bit distant, "_I __guess __you__'__re __right. __Well, __anyway, __what __about __you? __How __was __your __day?_"

"Well, my choir group held open auditions for the first solo of the semester…" she says, trailing off with a wide grin.

"_So __what __song __are __you __singing __lead __on?_" Sam deadpans, laughing when she does.

"Boy, you're a mess," she says, holding the phone closer to her ear, "I think you're a bigger me fan than my mama."

"_Nothing __against __your __Mama, __baby_," Sam smoothly states, using his Matthew McConaughey impression, "_But __she __ain__'__t __got __nothin__' __on __this._"

Mercedes cracks up until her roommate comes home.

**-GLEE-**

Tina's pace slows considerably when she takes in the gaggle of girls surrounding her boyfriend.

They're not _incredibly _obvious and Mike's never been _very_ perceptive but he's completely unaware of the eyes watching him.

He's not doing anything incredibly interested, but he's Mike and even if he were picking his nose, he'd probably do it so cooly that someone would still find him attractive.

What does it matter that all he's doing right now is waiting for Tina in the library and catching up on the _Twilight_ series?

"Hey," she greets, sitting down across from him and Mike looks up finally, beaming with the force of the sun at her.

"Hey Tina," he murmurs, leaning all the way across the table for a kiss, a move that makes his biceps bulge and the girls to the table to the left of them completely swoon.

Tina turns her head.

"Um, I wasn't aiming for the cheek, there," Mike says, settling back into his seat and giving her an odd look. "Uh oh, did I do something intolerably Asian again because I swear I've been working on that."

"No," Tina says firmly, trying and failing to check her smile, "You're just being too perfect a boyfriend. Everybody wants you."

Mike laughs, not thinking she's serious but Tina's not so amused look shuts him right up.

"I'm…sorry?" he says, cutely hunching his shoulders. "I'm not sure what you want me to do, Tina. I could, I don't know, forget your birthday or our anniversary I guess."

It works.

Tina cracks, breaking out into a wide smile. "It's totally not you or your fault. I've just got issues, you know?"

"Tell me something I don't know," Mike says teasingly, looking playfully exasperated as he rolls his eyes.

This time when he leans in for a kiss, Tina meets him halfway.

**-GLEE-**

They kill it.

No.

They absolutely _murder_ it.

The _Happy __Days __Are __Here __Again/Get __Happy_ duet has always been their favorite and it shows in the way Kurt and Rachel's voices completely blend together in what can only be described as musical bliss.

But then…

Mr. Cunningham takes his glasses off, his eyes shifting from Kurt's breathless face to Rachel's. "That was…"  
>he starts, searching for a word and Rachel beams, interrupting.<p>

"Thank you very much, Sir."

"…predictable."

Rachel's face falls, "Excuse me?"

"It was predictable. Show choir 101. The basics. Broadway smash with old time sass. It's been done, it's pedantic, and, quite frankly, I expected more from two kids whose choir placed second at nationals."

Rachel's chin quivers and Kurt looks aghast.

"I thought we were pretty terrific," he blurts out before reigning it in, "if I can say so," he mutters, steeping back down both literally and figuratively.

"No one's debating that Kurt," Mr. Cunningham says, voice warmer than before, "But I'm trying to do something with the Treble Makers this year. Sure, the big voices and bravado are good for the national audiences but first we have to get past the prelims and sectionals where you'll be judged by your peers and I can assure you that most kids your age could give a crap about the classics, as much as it saddens me to admit. I love your voices, I truly do, but, unless you can tone it down…"

"We can," Rachel says, stepping forward and nodding, "We can most definitely do that."

"Please Mr. Cunningham," Kurt pleads, "Just give us one more chance."

"You can audition again tomorrow."

**-GLEE-**

Sugar and Rory look at one another.

They're the only two in the choir room.

"Um, Mr. Schue," Sugar starts, raising her hand and speaking before he acknowledges her, "You're not going to like commit suicide or something because the glee club you directed to a second place nationals finish can't even drum up enough hype to draw in freshmen members are you?"

Rory flickers his eyes over to her, gaping, "Sugar?"

"Sorry," Sugar says, blinking absently, "Aspergers'."

"Well would you look at that," Coach Sylvester says, walking into the choir room without permission, "Turns out you can stop the beat."

"What are you doing here, Sue?" Will asks, absolutely fuming.

"Just checking to see how the old grease trap was holding up," she says, inspecting his coif, "Still enough oil to fuel a Curtiss P-36. That's a fighter jet by the way," she informs Sugar and Rory. "But then again, you'd know that if you weren't wasting your time belting out Broadway show tunes, instead of focusing on things that are important like vanity and the NBA lockout. Seriously, the only way you two will ever make it out of this imposter of a town is on the arm of an athlete. So listen up New Porcelain and girl a lot crazier than the blonde dancing cheerleader because I'm about to give you the best advice of your life, drop glee club before you end up like Will here, broke, married to a basket case, and completely and utterly incapable of ever succeeding at _anything_."

**-GLEE-**

"She looks like she's going to throw up," Quinn whispers, her eyes glued to Brittany and Blaine standing on the stage.

Santana's sitting so far up in her seat that her ass is literally hovering above it.

They're sitting much closer now but still far enough to avoid the wrath of Cunningham. After his decimation of Kurt and Rachel's performance Santana is just waiting – _waiting_– for him to say something to _her_ girlfriend.

He won't know what hit him.

**-GLEE-**

"Britt," Blaine whispers when she doesn't do anything, "It's your turn."

Brittany's hand covers the mic as she hisses back, "I know but I'm scared."

"Any time you're ready," Mr. Cunningham bellows, fingers tapping impatiently against the tabletop.

"Right," Blaine smiles, taking the microphone from the stand and moving towards Brittany. "We're going to have to improvise."

He takes Brittany's mic out and hands it to her. "I don't know what that means," Brittany whispers.

"Just dance," Blaine says.

_Just shoot for the stars  
>If it feels right<br>And aim for my heart  
>If you feel like<br>And take me away and make it okay  
>I swear I'll behave<em>

_Take me by the tongue  
>And I'll know you<br>Kiss me 'til you're drunk  
>And I'll show you<em>

_All the moves like Jagger_  
><em>I've got the moves like Jagger<em>  
><em>I've got the moves like Jagger<em>

_I don't need to try to control you_  
><em>Look into my eyes and I'll own you<em>

_With them moves like Jagger_  
><em>I've got the moves like Jagger<em>  
><em>I've got the moves like Jagger<em>

**-GLEE-**

"I do not appreciate this," Santana grits out, watching her Britt-Britt dancing all over Blaine and yes, she knows that there is absolutely nothing to worry about but when it comes to Brittany, Santana's logical mind gets KO'd by the completely love-struck version of herself.

"Oh, chill out," Quinn laughs, clapping along, "Besides, she's absolutely killing. Look at everyone."

Sure enough the entire audience – even if there are only about twenty of them – is vibing to the groove, Blaine's crooning and Brittany's sweet moves mesmerizing them all.

And then when Brittany sings Christina's part – not as strong as Miss Aguilera obviously but with enough sexiness to melt Sister Agatha's underwear off – they go completely wild.

Her girl is so freakin' awesome.

**-GLEE-**

Artie's waiting on the elevator when a long digit presses the up button again.

It's Tina's roommate.

_**Okay, don't freak out.**_

_**You're cool. Okay?**_

_**You're da' man.**_

_**Just be your cool, normal, chair-dancing self.**_

"Hi," he squeaks.

**_Kill __me __now_.**

Tina's roommate, Cara, smiles down at him, her sketchpad still held firmly in her hands. "Oh, hey," she says, flipping her hair back, "I'm sorry. I didn't see you at first. I'm a little distracted."

"Oh?" Artie prompts, fidgeting with his glasses as the elevator arrives.

"Yeah. I was in Philosophy class bored out of my skull right," Cara says, rolling her eyes, pressing number seven and then eight on the panel. Artie somehow manages to suppress a squee. "And then this awesome idea for a sketch came to me and before I knew it, I'd worked out this whole comic book storyboard."

Artie's ears start tingling, "Did you just say comic book?"

Cara blushes, her foot scuffing the floor. "Yeah. Lame, right?"

"No, not lame," Artie rushes to say, his voice floating over the 'ding' of the elevator. "Cool. Like, completely cool."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah," Artie grins, looking up at her.

"Well, maybe you can check out some of my stuff sometime?" Cara asks/says.

Artie grins widely now. "Okay."

"Okay," Cara says, backing out of the elevator, right into another student. She shyly tucks her hair behind her ear, muttering out an apology before walking away quickly.

_**Oh yeah.**_

Artie leans back in his chair, crossing his arms behind his head.

_**I'm the man.**_

**-GLEE-**

"San!" Brittany yells into Santana's face as she excitedly crashes into her awaiting arms and Blaine grins, "I'm a Treble Maker now!"

"You were so good, Britt," Santana says, rocking from the force of Brittany's embrace. She catches Blaine's eye over Brittany's shoulder, "You too Anderson."

"Thank you," Blaine nods, awkwardly sticking his hands into his pockets. It's only then that Kurt and Rachel come over, happy for them, but their disappointment is apparent.

"Congratulations," Kurt says, smiling genuinely, "I knew you'd be amazing."

"Thanks Kurt," Blaine grins, cheeks warming, "But now all we have to do is get you and Rachel in."

"Mr. Cunningham filled all the spots for the Treble Makers today," Kurt informs him, face stoic.

"But he said-"

"We can audition tomorrow for the 'B' show choir: The Scales."

Blaine's face falls, "I'm sorry Kurt," he says, reaching for his hand but Kurt shakes him off, plastering the smile back on his face.

"No worries," Kurt assures him. "I guess we should have listened to you. But in the meantime," he starts, turning toward Brittany, Santana, and Quinn, "We should go out and celebrate Blaine and Brittany."

**-GLEE-**

_**It's just unacceptable.**_

_**Completely unacceptable.**_

_**I am Rachel berry. **_

**I _am __a __star._**

_**I... am not in the school's show choir.**_

Rachel's still sitting in the auditorium, completely at a loss with what has just transpired.

This was supposed to be a cake-walk and yet here she was – the next Barbara, Liza, Celine – stranded on the sidelines; on the outside looking in.

"Woe is me," she sighs, slumping down even further into her seat.

"Uh oh," a voice interrupts her self-pitying party, "That doesn't sound good."

Rachel umps and turns in her seat, her eyes following the source of the sound where she finds a guy dressed in NYU sweats and carrying a guitar.

He looks vaguely familiar.

"Do I…do I know you?"

"Not yet," the guy says, walking up the stairs and sliding into the row of seats in front of her before extending his hand. "Christopher Duncan but you can call me Chris."

"Okay, Chris. I'm Rachel," she says slowly, shaking his hand even as her eyes narrow on him, "But are you sure we haven't met before?"

"I'm pretty sure I'd remember a pretty face like yours," Chris says slyly, winking then chuckling as Rachel flushes slightly, "But, you probably just recognize me from all the posters."

"Posters?"

"I'm the quarterback," Chris fills in and Rachel's 'oh' of recognition makes him smile. "I'm also the male lead in the Treble Makers."

"I'm sorry," Rachel says, sure she'd heard wrong, "What did you just say?"

"Treble Makers? The show choir? Mr. C said we had auditions today and he asked me to come and see about some miserable girl pouting in the…" Chris trails off, seeing Rachel in an entirely different light, "Oh."

"I'm not miserable and I don't appreciate _your _choir director sending someone to tend after me like I'm a wounded puppy. I'm not a child,"

"No you most certainly are not, but, let me guess, you're an _American __Idol _reject wannabe with grandiose dreams and an insufferable heir of self-importance," Chris surmises with a smirk. "Mr. C _hates_ those types."

"Actually I'm the biggest star you've never seen and I am certain I can sing circles around you and your precious Mr. C," Rachel states primly, folding her hands on her laps.

Chris laughs, raising an eyebrow. "Is that a fact?"

"Undoubtedly."

"You wanna go?"

"Go?" Rachel frowns, "Go where?"

"Sing-off. Right here. Right now," he says, swinging his guitar around. "You say you can sing circles around me, right? Well then show me."

Rachel quirks an eyebrow, "Genre?"

"Your choice."

"Music?" she asks this time and Chris puts the guitar down.

"We can go acapella, baby."

Rachel grins, standing up to face him. "Who goes first?"

Chris smiles charmingly. "Ladies _always_ go first."

"You're on."

**-GLEE-**

"Did you get in touch with Rachel yet?" Blaine yells into the side of Kurt's face.

The club they're at is noisy and packed to the brim with loud, obnoxious college people. It's not really his scene but, unfortunately, this place was one of the only under 21 clubs around and since Kurt still looks pre-pubescent most of the time, they had to make due.

"No," Kurt shakes his head, "She's probably sobbing and watching _Funny __Girl_ on repeat!"

"I feel bad for her," Blaine says, holding back a grin as he watches Brittany and Santana on the dance floor. They're so gonna go at it tonight.

"She'll be okay," Kurt assures him, patting his leg under the table discreetly. "She's a big girl."

"And you?"

"I'm a big boy," Kurt muses, grinning wryly.

Blaine chuckles, reaching for his glass of iced tea.

"Whoo!" Quinn yells, flopping back down into their booth. "Keeping up with those two is like running the Boston Marathon."

She shakes out her hair and reaches into her handbag, pulling out a cigarette.

"I'd imagine so for someone who insists on smoking death sticks," Kurt says pointedly, raising an eyebrow.

"Oh get off my back, Mom," Quinn grumbles good-naturedly, "You re-enact scenes from musicals to relax; I do this."

Kurt gasps, offended, and Blaine pats his hand reassuringly.

There's a break in the music – _finally_– and the dance floor empties as sweaty bodies find their way back to their respective parties.

Santana slides in next to Quinn and Brittany scrambles in beside her, pressing close and wrapping her arms around Santana's shoulders.

Quinn picks up the stack of napkins they'd brought back with them. "What's up with all the wasted paper, guys?"

"Those are phone numbers," Santana says, rolling her eyes and stealing a fry out of Kurt's basket.

"Everybody thinks San is hot," Brittany supplies, leaning in and kissing her girlfriend on the cheek and then smearing the lipstick print away with her thumb.

"Damn Santana," Blaine laughs, thumbing through the stack, "This is impressive."

"One of them is for you," Santana tells him with a quirked eyebrow and amused grin.

"What?" Blaine asks, blanching.

"Yeah. I tried to tell her you weren't interested but I still think she's going to hit on you," Santana continues, grinning smugly and stealing another French fry.

"What makes you say that?" Kurt asks and Quinn and Brittany snicker as Santana nods her head behind the boys where an attractive-looking brunette is standing in wait, jeans slung low on well-defined hips.

She be hot.

"Hi," she says, smiling at Blaine.

"Oh," Blaine swallows, eyes wide. "Hello," he croaks.

The girl leans her arm against the back of the booth, behind him and leans so far down that her cleavage is at Blaine's eye level. "I was wondering if you'd like to dance."

Blaine's eyes cross but his friends' snickers bring him back to the present, "Um, no. I'm good."

"Are you sure?" the girl asks, leaning even closer and making Blaine involuntarily back up.

"Positive, yeah. I'm…not…dancing? I suck at it and I…no, dancing not good," he stutters out dumbly, breathing a sigh of relief when the girl finally backs up.

"Your loss," she mutters, leaving without another word and Blaine just blinks, feeling his face heating up.

"I don't think I've been that close to breasts since I was a baby," he jokes, cracking up when everyone else does.

Everyone – that that is – except for Kurt.

"Hey gaydar sucks," Quinn says, shaking her head.

"Why didn't you just tell her you were here with someone?" Kurt asks, swirling his straw around in his glass.

Blaine snorts, "Because then she would've asked who, duh," he says with a chuckle.

Santana winces for him.

"Wrong answer, bro," Brittany tells him, sliding out of the booth when the music kicks in again. "C'mon San. Round two."

Santana quietly follows her, Brittany tugging her along by both of her hands.

"I'm gonna go, too," Quinn mumbles uncomfortably, dampening her cigarette before she leaves.

"And what's wrong with answering her," Kurt finally says.

"Kurt, look, I love you. You know I love you but…" Blaine pauses here, struggling to find the words.

"But what?"

"I don't know these people. I don't know how they're gonna act or react. This is a different place."

"Blaine, we're not in Lima anymore. This is New York."

"Bigots are everywhere, Kurt," Blaine interrupts, "And you're right, this isn't Lima. This isn't a town where your dad can come to your defense or Mr. Schue safeguards you. There's no one here to protect us, Kurt. And if something were to happen to you-"

"Okay, okay," Kurt soothes, when Blaine's voice starts to waver. "Okay, I get it. Lying low for a while couldn't hurt."

"I'm not ashamed of us Kurt. I want to make that clear and when the time comes, I'm totally waving the rainbow flag with you," he insists, smiling warmly.

"Okay."

**-GLEE-**

Chris looks amused to say the least, and he raises an eyebrow at the sheet music Rachel just happens to have on her phone.

"Are you for real with this?" he asks her, crooked smile on his face.

"What's the matter, Christopher?" she asks him, hands on her hips. "Are you…afraid?"

She rounds to face him on the stage and Chris straightens up, squaring his shoulders in her direction. "Not at all."

_Things have come to a pretty pass,  
>Our romance is growing flat,<br>'Cause you like this and the other  
>While I go for this and that.<br>Goodness knows what the end will be;  
>Oh, I don't know where I'm at...<br>It plain to see we two will never be one,  
>Something must be done.<em>

_You say eether and I say eyether,  
>You say neether and I say nyther;<br>Eether, eyether, neether, nyther,  
>Let's call the whole thing off.<br>You like potato and I like potahto,  
>You like tomato and I like tomahto;<br>Potato, potahto, tomato, tomahto,  
>Let's call the whole thing off.<br>_

Mr. Cunningham isn't expecting to hear music when he comes back into the auditorium to pick up his notes and it's playing on one of those God-awful mp3 players no less, but the voices accompanying the musical notes more than make up for it.

_You say laughter and I say lawfter,  
>You say after and I say awfter;<br>Laughter, lawfter, after, awfter,  
>Let's call the whole thing off!<br>You like Havana and I like Havahnah,  
>You say banana and I say banahnah;<br>Havana, Havahnah, banana, banahnah,  
>Let's call the whole thing off.<br>But oh! If we call the whole thing off,  
>Then we must part.<br>And oh! If we ever part,  
>Then that might break my heart!<br>So, if you go for oysters and I go for ersters  
>I'll order oysters and cancel the ersters.<br>For we know we need each other,  
>So we better call the calling off off,<br>Let's call the whole thing off!_

Rachel finishes the note breathlessly, laughing along with Chris when they're finally done, but their laughter breaks off suddenly with the upstart of a single round of applause.

"That was absolutely fantastic," Mr. Cunningham says, approaching the stage with slow yet deliberate steps. "It seems I made a mistake in casting you aside so soon Rachel. Both yours and Mr. Duncan's voices blend magnificently. I think I've found my lead soloists."

"You mean?" Rachel gasps, grinning wide.

Mr. Cunningham nods, laughing when Rachel leaps forward and embraces him.

She's so beside herself that she does the same thing to Chris, awkwardly stiffening when she realizes it.

"I'm sorry," she says, pulling away.

"It's cool," Chris says, finding the enthusiasm adorable, "Just look at it as you holding me upright because I was dizzy from all the circles you sang around me."

**-GLEE-**

The drummer's on his ending solo and Julian is just as amped up as the crowd, only, he can't really react the way he's supposed to because he's still got two payments left on this guitar.

Smashing it to bits in the name of musical expression would just be stupid.

Plus, they still have two songs to play.

Squinting out into the crowd, he smirks at all the pretty faces.

He's done 'em all.

Well, except…

There's those two blonde and brunette girls he's never seen before but, really, they look way more into each other and yes, he's been there done that but threesomes are overrated, especially when two girls are involved.

It works in the pornos but in real life, the guy usually gets left out.

Swinging his hair out of his eyes, he catches a glimpse of her.

The girl from his class earlier – Quinn.

She looks like a good girl but there's something in her eyes that just screams repressed sex kitten.

And those are _the __best_ ones.

"Yo, Nico," he says, not incredibly loud but loud enough to carry.

The lead guitarist – Nico – looks over, still strumming away. "What, Bro?"

"Let me sing lead on the ballad," Julian says, gesturing with his head toward Quinn in the audience.

"Whatever man," Nico shrugs, "It's your band."

The current song ends and everyone claps for them but they don't leave the dance floor which sets the stage perfectly for Julian.

He swaps guitars with Nico before speaking into the microphone. "Alright, how's everybody doing?" he asks the crowd which simply yells back at him in response. "We want to thank you all for rocking with us tonight and trust me, we sound _so_ much better if you're a little buzzed."

A chorus of laughter erupts while the drummer, Jason, counts down the cue, starting up the slow song.

"Okay, so this next one, is for all the couples out there. And who says a man can't do Gaga?"

The lights dim and they kick straight into the song, Julian strumming away on the guitar strings, fingers gliding effortlessly along its neck as he goes through the chord progression.

_It's been a long time since I came around  
>Been a long time but I'm back in town<br>This time I'm not leaving without you  
>You taste like whiskey when you kiss me, oh<br>I'd give anything to be your boy again  
>This time I'm not leaving without you<em>

_Something, something about this place  
>Something 'bout lonely nights and your lipstick on my face<br>Something, something about this cool Nebraska guy  
>Yeah something about, baby, you and I<em>

He catches Quinn's eye at the end of the first chorus, winking slyly and Quinn blushes, her swaying body slowing to a stop.

Santana's got her arms wrapped around Brittany's shoulders from behind – even though she has to stand on her tiptoes to do it – and she grins at the transfixed look Quinn has on her face.

Julian stops strumming but keeps singing, swinging the guitar back around and then taking the microphone off the stand, jumping off the stage.

_Sit back down where you belong  
>In the corner of my bar with your high heels on<br>Sit back down on the couch where we  
>Made love the first time and you said to me<em>

He reaches Quinn at the exact same time as the second chorus and she joins him on the chorus and bridge, singing the original lyrics while everyone claps and dances around them.

_You and I  
>You, you and I<br>Baby, I rather die  
>Without you and I<em>

You and I  
>You, you and I<br>Nebraska, I rather die  
>Without you and I<p>

Quinn lets the last note trail off, her eyes caught up in staring at the greenish-grey ones staring at her.

"What's your name?" Julian asks quietly while the crowd applauds them.

"Quinn," the blonde answers shyly, blushing furiously when Julian takes her hand and lifts it in the air.

"Thank you, ladies and gentlemen. Give it up for Quinn, everybody!"

**-GLEE-**

**Songs included in this chapter are:**

**_Moves __Like __Jagger_ by Maroon 5**

**_Let__'__s __Call __the __Whole __Thing __Off_ by Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers**

**_You __and __I_ by Lady Gaga**

* * *

><p><em><strong>And now, a ficlet:<strong>_

_**Break**_

She's gonna break.

I just know it.

It's been building ever since she burst into the Trouble Tones changing room, eyes puffy and nose red.

I made for her straight away but she just shook her head, waving me off.

It's been building since the first turn in the choreography when her eyes sought out mine again and again and again.

But, really, it's been building ever since she first told me she loved me.

I couldn't stop her if I tried.

Sometimes even I'm not enough to control her temper, and then other times, I actually feel like the person she's going after deserves it.

I'm not entirely sure what Finn did that cut so deep – she didn't seem to care that he called her out in the hallway yesterday – but when her voice quivers as she yells at him, I almost want to hit him just as bad.

She's gonna break.

I just know it.

I just hope she lets me pick up the pieces.


End file.
